Pretty When You Cry
by Vanillusion
Summary: I used to have this posted here at ff.n, but took it down for quite a bit... I'll be updating it soon, though. Draco/Harry - there's a very fine line between love and hate... [R for non-con and violence.] Gimme a S, gimme an L, gimme an A-S-H...
1. Jealousy of a Dragon

I don't want to hate him, but I do.  
  
I know it's a terrible thing to say about the person that lays beside you at night... the person with whom you share the most intimate moments, but I cannot help but to hate him, in a way. Please do not misunderstand me. I love Harry Potter as much as I believe I am capable of loving anyone, but a part of me still despises him _ not the person he is, but the person he is made to be by the adoring fans of the Boy Who Lived. I hate his modesty towards the entire affair, I hate his demure acceptance of the praises others lay upon him, as if he honestly doesn't see why being Harry Potter makes him so goddamned special. I hate him even more for the fact that the latter is entirely true _ he *doesn't* know, not at all, and he will never know how furious it makes me, either.  
  
Of course, these are some of the very same things I love about him, but I have always been a system of paradoxes. I accept this fact; I do not try to dissect the whys and wherefores of my emotions. A Malfoy does not question himself. And yet sometimes... sometimes I am absolutely forced to do so. Sometimes that piece of me that hates him grows too strong, so much so that I fear both for his safety, and for my own.  
  
Take, for instance, an incident which occurred only two weeks ago.  
  
Gryffindor had defeated Ravenclaw by exactly 150 points, thanks (of course) to the famous Harry Potter, who captured the Golden Snitch upon its very first appearance on the field. Apparently the Snitch was feeling particularly malicious that day _ for nearly five hours, there was not a single sign of it. It was surely the most grueling Quidditch game I've seen in my five years at Hogwarts. And in the aftermath of vicarious celebrating and congratulating, everyone but *everyone* wanted a piece of Harry.   
  
I... would have been reveling in it, if I were him. In a family like mine, you have to fight for your personal glory. Its quite difficult to accomplish *anything* that hasn't already been accomplished by your father or your grandfather and so on. For Harry, things couldn't be more different. He has no footsteps to follow in, no family honor to uphold. He *is* his family honor. Not a soul in the wizarding world doesn't know The Boy Who Lived, who doesn't respect and revere the name Harry Potter. Oh yes, I would have been in my glory indeed, if I were in his shoes. But not Harry. He didn't want any part of it. He never asked for a bit of the attention - indeed, he never even *knew* who he was until four years ago, and he certainly didn't think he deserved it. His modesty drove me mad.  
  
I didn't attend the celebration feast that night. I didn't think I could stand to watch him from across the Great Hall, surrounded by his friends and countless admirers, or listen to Dumbledore congratulate him for winning the House Cup for Gryffindor, and watch him stare down at his lap in embarrassment as they clapped him on the shoulders. No, the truth was - I couldn't stand to share him.   
  
That why, when he slipped through the door of my dormitory that evening, I hated myself for being so jealous. He was as silent as a mouse, as he crept inside... his footsteps so quiet and his expression so honest and worried that I turned away from him. God, he was so devoted. Quite suddenly, I was struck with the overwhelming urge to hurt him like a slap in my face - it startled me... and when it sank in, I was appalled at myself, and yet it would not fade away completely.  
  
"Why aren't you downstairs?" His voice was soft and earnest behind me. I heard him come closer, the soft rustle of his robes against the stone floor.  
  
"Why aren't *you*?" My voice was cold, but I didn't care. I didn't turn around in the moments of silence that followed. I knew my sharpness had hurt him, and I couldn't bear to look at him and see this. Finally he slipped his arms around my shoulder from behind, and his breath was warm against my neck as he spoke close to my ear.  
  
"I came to find you. I was worried." His lips brushed against the skin of my neck in a butterfly kiss, but I did not soften to it as I usually would have. "I tried to get to you after the match, but..." Harry trailed off awkwardly, and even though I could not see him I knew he was biting his lip.  
  
"But you couldn't take time away from your fan club, is that it?" I snapped. I could feel him flinch as if my words had struck him a physical blow, and though he continued as if I hadn't said a word there was a tightness to his voice that hadn't been there to begin with, as if it would crack any moment.   
  
"...and when I didn't see you in the Great Hall tonight, I came looking for you." Harry nuzzled against my shoulder, his arms tightening a bit around me. I couldn't escape the scent of him now _ shampoo and fresh air and the unmistakable essence that was uniquely Harry, fresh and clean and sweeter than honey. I closed my eyes against it. His hair was so soft against my cheek, his body heat so warm against my skin, and I hated myself for hating him... yet somehow, the fact that he made me feel guilty made me seethe even more. The urge to hurt him swelled inside my chest again, pounding against my ribs, and although the idea of hurting Harry made my conscious mind sick to it's stomach, the little piece of me that hated him for being The Boy Who Lived would not give in this time.  
  
Almost before I realized it myself, I had twisted around and grabbed him forcefully by the jaw, pulling his face to mine in a rough and possessive kiss. *I'll show you just what you're devoted to.* Harry made a small, startled sound in the back of his throat, but in a moment he had relaxed into both my hand and my lips. God, but he was trusting. God, how I loved him... how I hated him...  
  
God, how I wanted him.  
  
I rose to my feet, pulling him with me my his chin, and pulled him against me roughly by his waist with my free hand, my tongue still entwined with his. Harry was pliant and willing in my embrace - he slid his arms around my neck gently, still expecting nothing but tenderness from me. He was quite accustomed to my possessive nature by now, and I am sure he attributed my forceful manner tonight to just that. It wasn't until I'd backed him against the wall and taken a rough hold of his wrists that it seemed to dawn on him that I was not playing, as I pinned his hands to the wall above his head, holding his body prone against the stones with my own. His beautiful green eyes widened a bit as he looked up at me, his breathing shallow, and I could see in those eyes that he did not understand.  
  
He took a breath to speak, but before he could I had clamped one hand viciously over his mouth, still holding both his wrists captive with my other. "Shut up." I hissed at him, and Harry whimpered softly, the heartbreaking sound muffled by my palm. Confusion and panic were welling up in his eyes, but nothing could stop me by then, even the desperate way he looked at me, pleading silently with me to let him go. His current vulnerability only added more fuel to the passionate fire burning inside my chest. *Damn you for being so beautiful. I'll show you who you belong to.*  
  
The string of events that followed are clouded in my mind, the memories captured with the dreamlike quality of a nightmare. I remember forcing him out of his robes and onto the bed, and the way struggled against me valiantly for a few moments before finally going pliant with fear. I remember exploring his body with my hands and lips as I never have before. I have always been quite gentle and loving with Harry - his submissive nature responds most willingly to tenderness and patience, but I possessed neither of these qualities that night. I remember the way he turned his face away from me - eyes pressed shut to block out the moment, and I remember the way his delicate features contorted with pain when I finally took him, my fingernails digging into the front of his hipbones, my teeth cruel and hungry upon the delicate flesh of his neck. I remember the sound of his cries - no more than little whimpers of fear and confusion and pain, mingled with the occasional faint tinge of pleasure. And I remember the way he looked at me when it was over - lying prone and trembling upon my bed, gazing up at me with a mixture of confusion and desperation and an almost divine acceptance as he gasped to regain his breath.  
  
I had expected hatred in those eyes, or at least accusatory bitterness, but I found neither. However I had hurt him, he seemed not to hold it against me. It was as if he knew why I had done this to him and had already forgiven me for it, and now he was looking to me to soothe my actions away again. Perhaps this was why he had not fought against me once as I raped him - he had expected comfort from me in the aftermath. I rose from the bed, leaving him there, and paced to the window with a sickening lead weight sinking to the pit of my stomach.  
  
What had I done?  
  
'....Draco?' His voice was as small and timid and innocent as a child's behind me. Although I did not want to, something made me turn and look at him. Though he lay on his back still, his face was turned towards me. I hadn't noticed until now that I'd left marks upon him - a sickening pattern scratches cris-crossed his chest and stomach in the wake of my nails, and from the way he was clutching one wrist to his chest with his free hand I was fairly sure I'd left bruises from the fierceness with which I'd pinned him to the bed. But what really broke my heart was the way he was looking at me. His eyes were so pleading and innocent that I could have killed myself for hurting him. All at once, I could no longer fathom what had brought me to my own actions. I knew only the terrible, sickening feeling of regret that pooled itself in my stomach.  
  
Harry was shaking. In the silence his breath had grown quicker, as if he were close to tears, and I knew he would finally break down if I didn't say anything, but the truth was I didn't know what to say. No apologies in the world could make up for what I had just done to him, and yet Harry demanded no apology in the first place. In giving in to my own unfounded, jealous insecurities, I had hurt the one person with the power to relieve me of them. The little piece of me that had hated Harry died right then and there, the moment I realized that I had nothing to be jealous of. For all the people hopelessly in love with Harry Potter, Harry Potter was in love with only me.   
  
And I had hurt him. Hurt him because of something he had no control over. Now I was going to have to make up for it.  
  
He shuddered when I took him in my arms, as if he'd just come inside from a cold, rainy night, and melted against me almost immediately. Harry loved to be held normally, but in the face of emotional trauma, sometimes he positively needed it. I could feel his muscles slowly uncoiling, releasing the tension I'd imposed upon them. 'I'm sorry, darling...' I whispered into his hair, cradling him against my chest. Already, his breathing had become more even, his shaking had begun to subside, and now he lifted his head from my shoulder just enough to look up at me with those honest green eyes.  
  
'Don't be sorry... I'm alright.' He didn't sound alright to me. But Harry had become very good at convincing himself to bite the bullet out of necessity by this point in his life. There was nothing I could say in response. *Don't be sorry? How can I not be sorry?* But I could tell that he had meant what he said, as he nuzzled against my shoulder once again with a little sigh. 'C'n I stay with you tonight?'came the muffled question after a few moments. I could almost feel him bracing himself for my answer if it happened to be no, and it almost brought tears to my eyes. *Here I go and do the unspeakable to you, treat you with the most unforgivable coldness, and all you ask of me in compensation is my company.* I wound my arms tighter around his slender frame, caressing the small of his back with three fingers, and this seemed to be all the answer he needed.  
  
'Thank you.' He whispered, settling deeper against me. Still at a loss for words, I pulled the blankets over us both and leaned back against the pillows behind me, with Harry already half asleep in my arms. 


	2. Alone In His Arms

~Alone In His Arms~  
  
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. They are British and I am not. Enough said.  
  
Warning: Watch For Falling Slash.  
  
Prequel: Pretty When You Cry  
  
Ok... once again, by request a Harry/Draco piece for those of you who are kinky like me. This is a direct sequel to my first H/D piece, so I suggest you read that first. Its from Harry's POV.  
  
~Mizery~  
  
***  
  
Even in his arms, I was alone.   
  
Draco had fallen asleep holding me... and for a few precious moments, I had bordered on unconsciousness myself. For so long I had taken shelter in his embrace that, in the aftermath of an exhausting and traumatic incident such as had passed only hours earlier, I had curled up against him with my head against his chest, and listened to his heartbeat until I was calm again. I let the same hands that had hurt me soothe me into a dreamlike half-sleep, as they had so many times before... before they became my enemies...   
  
But the closer I came to sleep, the closer the nightmares crept to me, as the events of the preceding evening swam through my head... and his heartbeat became my own - quickening as his hands clasped my shoulders and threw me backwards onto his bed, skipping a beat altogether as he wrenched my hands above my head. Cold caresses and sharp nails, velvet bedclothes and his teeth upon my skin... the way his fingers clamped themselves around my jaw and forced my head against the pillows, the pain that should have been pleasure... the way he didn't seem to care. I could feel the helpless confusion clouding my senses again, hear the echoes of my own mind. *What did I do to deserve this. What did I do...*  
  
With a gasp, I came back to my senses. Draco's heartbeat was still steady, his breathing deep and rhythmic in sleep. Lifting his head from his shoulder and trying to catch my breath, I stole a glance at his face. He looked like an angel when he slept, he really did... and it brought tears to my eyes to think that an angel was capable of doing what he had done. I clamped my teeth down on my lower lip, and ever-so-carefully began to disentangle myself from his embrace. Suddenly I couldn't be here anymore. An hour ago I had been desperate to stay with him, clinging to the only solace I had ever known in fifteen years. But Draco was not Safety anymore. Now, I didn't know what was. The only thing I knew was that I couldn't stay here tonight, alone in his arms.  
  
The Slytherin common room was cold and deserted, and the coldness seeped into my bones as I passed through it that didn't go away until I reached the Gryffindor tower. There was a chill in the air in the hallways of the rambling old castle at 3am, and the Invisibility Cloak did very little to relieve it. I was shivering through and through by the time I'd reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, who was quite a heavy sleeper and took a few moments to revive. She wasn't pleased about being disturbed at this hour and snapped at me before swinging back to let me inside, and her words were like a jab in my already churning stomach. *I can't take anymore of this, not tonight...*   
  
I shrugged the cloak off my shoulders as I reached the door to the fifth-year dormitory, and slipped inside as quietly as I could so as not to wake anyone else. The last thing I needed was for one of them to see me like this - a shaking, teary-eyed mess with a bruise across one cheekbone from where my face had hit the post of his bed. I collapsed onto my bed and drew the curtains before I dared to make a sound, in hopes that they would do some good to contain the tears that had been threatening to break loose ever since Draco had pinned me to the wall and clamped his hand over my mouth. *Shut up...* he had hissed, and it was if a lead weight had crashed to the bottom of my stomach.   
  
I pulled my glasses off my nose. They were bent out of shape from when I'd hit the post of the bed, and the sight of them brought a sob to my throat. I rolled over onto my stomach and buried my face in my pillow to muffle the sound. The claw marks on my chest and stomach burned under the contact and my own weight, the bruises on my hips throbbing with newfound magnitude. *...What did I do?* I did not understand - it was as if he'd been possessed. The storm had come out of the blue, and left just as quickly. One minute he was a demon, the next he was apologizing as if it had not been within his control. He had seemed so very sorry, and his grey eyes were so earnest that I'd almost felt the need to console *him*. At the very least, I couldn't have let him see how much he'd really hurt me, in fear that it would hurt him.  
  
Why? Why did I care if I hurt him after what he had done to me? Why? Because I loved him, that was why, even if he didn't love me. The very idea wrenched something inside me that hurt a thousand times worse than the bruises or the scratches or the bite marks, and I hugged my pillow to my chest, wishing with all my heart that it could hug me back. I didn't want to be alone again. I had been alone all my life, until there was Draco. The nightmares always knew when I was alone, and they would torture me until dawn if gone unchecked. I rolled onto my side, pulled my knees to my chest, and squeezed my eyes shut against them, and against the tears, and against the empty feeling in my chest. The silence of the dormitory pressed in on me, absent even of Ron's usual, soft snores and Neville's uneven breathing, and for a moment I almost wished I had stayed with him. But the physical blows he had dealt me still ached their constant reminder to my shredded soul that the comfort I might have found in his embrace would have been synthetic. No, better to be alone in my own bed, than alone in his arms. 


	3. Never Like This

Part III  
  
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. If you did not know this already, I don't know what to say to you ~shakes his head~  
  
Warning: The summary does not lie. There is slashy stuff ahead. Please take this opportunity to gag and run away now if this offends you.  
  
Dedication: I would like to dedicate this to my first and so far only flame, Amanda. Here's lookin' at you, kid. ~pretty smile~  
  
***  
  
He had never heard Harry cry like this before.  
  
Ron was no stranger to Harry's tears. When one shares a room with others for five long years, they are forced to share certain intimacies... they come to certain, unspoken understandings, and subsequently tend to withhold judgement. Indeed, every one of the Gryffindor fifth_years had cried themselves to sleep at some point, and the others _ knowing it could just as easily be them _ respectfully closed their ears to it, as they prayed the others would do out of embarrassment when they were the ones with the tears to shed. They did not speak of things like these. Lack of privacy demands a certain amount of mutual respect.   
  
But Harry was prone to tears far more frequently than the others. Ron didn't blame him. His best friend had a lot to cry for. Sometimes he wasn't even sure Harry was awake... the boy was the victim of ruthless nightmares, and more often than not he awoke from them in a terrible state. Nevertheless, he was always so very quiet _ Ron doubted that he disturbed the exceptionally heavy slumber of Neville or Dean very often... but tonight, the entire dorm room seemed conspicuously silent save for Harry, who was making much less of an effort than usual to conceal his misery.  
  
These were not the usual soft, self_contained tears shed for nightmares or memories or pain too long beared in silence. This sorrow was far too acute, too immediate to be for a proverbial scar that refuses to fade, but rather for a fresh and open wound. Ron rolled over on his back in bed and bit down on his lower lip, listening as Harry gasped for breath and tried in vain to muffle another round of broken sobs into his pillow when he had regained it, whimpering something that Ron couldn't quite hear, but had the distinct ring of "ow". The sound made something deep in his stomach shift uneasily.  
  
He wasn't sure how long he laid there after that, wide awake and staring into the darkness, listening to his friend slowly but surely exhaust himself in the bed beyond - his sobs growing quiet, losing intensity as he lost more and more energy. But the pain was still there, no matter how softly he cried... if anything, the weakness that laced Harry's voice only served to magnify the pain in it tenfold - a tired, plaintive, heartbreaking sound. Ron rolled restlessly onto his side, his eyes still wide open. If Harry was going to have cried himself to sleep, he would have done so by now. No, Ron had never heard Harry cry like this before, which is why after several moments he finally made up his mind and slid out from beneath his blankets, his feet connecting with the cold stone floor soundlessly. Moonlight was pouring through the window above the silver water jug, which was half blocked from his view by the large, looming dark mass that was Harry's bed, only a few feet away.  
  
"Harry...?" he whispered, pulling aside the bed curtains and letting in the moonlight "...you all right?"  
  
But it only took one look for him to be sure that Harry was very much not all right. His friend was huddled in a little ball on top of the blankets, shaking from head to toe and clutching a pillow to his chest as if his life depended on it. Harry's knuckles were white around the pillowcase, his face buried behind it. Beside him on the bed lay his glasses, horribly bent on one side as if...  
  
*...as if someone hit him...* Even the thought of it made Ron sick... but at the sound of his voice Harry raised his head, and Ron's worst fears were confirmed. A ghastly looking bruise ran the length of his left cheekbone, visible even in the half-light. His expression was that of a deer caught in headlights - startled, scared, and frozen with indecision, but those green eyes said all that needed to be said, even if Harry himself didn't know it. They begged for help, those eyes. They begged for something to ease the pain, someone to soothe away the fear that gripped him from the inside, the horrible sense of worthlessness.  
  
"Im... sorry for waking you...." he whispered a moment later, reaching for his glasses and feigning moderate composure. Ron picked them up for him and set them in his trembling hands before he sat down next to him on the bed, and Harry fit them awkwardly onto his nose, struggling to sit up at the same time. "I didn't mean..."  
  
Ron hushed him gently before he could continue, and Harry regarded him rather dubiously, as if he wasn't quite sure what to expect. Ron furrowed his eyebrows and reached out one hand, brushing his fingers lightly over the bruise on his cheek. "What happened?"  
  
Harry flinched upon first contact, but he didn't pull away. Instead he looked down at his lap. "You should go back to sleep, Ron... I won't keep you awake any longer.." he whispered softly.  
  
"Not until you tell me who or what did this to you." Ron countered, hoping that he'd been successful at sounding both stern and comforting at the same time. He smoothed Harry's hair back off his forehead and tucked a few stray strands behind his ear for him, while the other boy chewed nervously on his lip and avoided his eyes. He didn't reply, but he did lean into Ron's hand a bit, needing the touch. It was better than nothing. "Harry...", he continued, "come on... Ive never seen you this upset before..."  
  
"Please don't tell anyone..."  
  
"You know I won't. You can trust me."  
  
Harry finally looked up at him, and studied his face very hard for a moment, as if trying to read the answer to some great inner turmoil there... and after what seemed like a lifetime, he buried his face in his own hands, pulled his knees up to his chest, and the whole horrid tale flooded forth - muffled by his hands, but still audible enough to make Ron's face pale and his stomach twist into a knot.  
  
"...and I don't know what I did wrong. I don't even know... all I know is that I'm so scared, and it hurts, and I don't want to be alone right now. I can't... I..." Harry's words trailed off, and Ron could tell by the way he bit his lip and closed his eyes that he was fighting back another onslaught of tears. Wrapping his arms around himself, he gazed through the gap in the curtains to the window beyond, but from the look in his eyes Ron doubted that he was truly seeing anything that was there.  
  
There was nothing he could say... nothing that would make it all better for his best friend, and never before had Ron remembered feeling so helpless. He licked his lips once or twice, on the verge of speech, but there were no words to heal those wounds. He could only think of one thing to do. Cautiously, so as not to hurt him further, he gathered Harry up in his arms and pulled him close. The other boy did not resist - quite the contrary, he positively melted into his embrace. Ron could feel a shudder run through the slender body in his arms, before it began to relax, slowly but surely.   
  
"You're going to be all right, Harry... I've got you..." Ron let the words of comfort roll from his tongue without really thinking about it. He caressed the boy's cheek gently, as if to soothe the bruise away with his bare hands, and let Harry cry his eyes out all over again with his face buried against Ron's shoulder. Deep tremors ran through the delicate frame in his arms, and Ron could almost smell the fear that still lingered on him. "You're going to be alright, you hear me?" He whispered, close to the boys ear, rubbing the back of his neck and easing his fingers through his hair. "You're safe here... I won't let anyone else hurt you, I promise. Just relax, Harry... just relax..." Under his gentle ministrations, Harry eventually closed his eyes. His breathing was slowly becoming regular again, and he'd stopped shaking so very hard.   
  
"Don't leave..." The whisper was barely audible, muffled against Ron's neck as Harry burrowed against his shoulder and curled his fingers around the other boy's nightshirt.  
  
Ron kissed his hair softly, burying his face in the smell of shampoo and fresh air and Harry himself, and tugged the bed curtains shut around them. "Shhh... I'm not going anywhere," he soothed. If Harry didn't want to be alone, then Ron wasn't going to leave him - and it was plain as day that his best friend desperately needed the comfort. It took him a few minutes to coax Harry out of his arms long enough so that he could turn down the bedclothes, and even in those few short moments he could feel the boy's panic returning, see it in his eyes and the way he clutched a bruised wrist to his chest. But Ron kept his word. He stretched out beside him and pulled the blankets over them both, slid his arms around Harry's trembling frame, smoothed his hand over his back in a slow, soothing rhythm.  
  
"You need to sleep..." Ron told him, as Harry nuzzled against him, burrowing as deep as he could into the arms that held him, as if he could hide from the world there.  
  
"As long as you stay..."  
  
"I'm not leaving, I promise. You shouldn't be alone right now, anyway."  
  
And for the first time that evening, Harry actually smiled - a soft and almost contented smile as he closed his eyes, pressed himself against his best friend's shoulder. He could Ron's heartbeat through his chest, and it sounded nothing like Draco's heart did. Soothed by its rhythm, comforted by the warm arms around him, he fell asleep in a matter of minutes.  
  
But Ron did not sleep so quickly. He lay awake for a very long time, listening to Harry's soft and even breathing, cherishing the tortured, sleeping creature in his arms, and planning where to hide Malfoy's body....  
  
[A/N: Sorry about all the sappy bullshit - I promise that I am getting to the plot here! It just takes me awhile. Get ready for a showdown between Ron and Malfoy in the chapters to come, and Snape will eventually become involved as well....] 


End file.
